Chapter 2—Splash Jerkface

Chapter 2 — Splash Jerkface

Two Weeks Ago…

Kallista Hughes stood in the bustling kitchen of Brio’s Kitchen, gripping the edge of the stainless-steel counter so hard her knuckles whitened. The sharp clatter of pans, the hiss of sautéing vegetables, and the murmurs of the kitchen staff filled the air, but none of it registered. All she could hear was Chef Alden’s voice, cold and hard cutting through the noise like a shard of ice.

“You served that to her, Kallista?” Chef Alden’s tone was restrained but it carried the same nastiness it always did when he was upset. His neatly pressed chef’s coat and steely gray eyes gave him the appearance of a general about to dismiss a soldier he didn't like.

“I—I didn’t mean—” Kallista stammered, her hands trembling.

“She’s a food critic, for God’s sake!” Alden barked, throwing his clipboard onto the counter. “And you managed to ruin every single dish in her order. Do you know what that means for this restaurant? For my reputation?”

Kallista opened her mouth, but no words came out. She replayed the lunch rush in her head. It had been chaos, as always, but something had gone wrong. Her preparations had been perfect—or so she thought. Yet, somehow, every dish she touched seemed cursed. The grilled sea bass? Overcooked. The risotto? Bland. The crème brûlée? Too sweet and with a cracked top. And the crown jewel of her failure? The seasonal tasting menu’s main course—a filet mignon served nearly raw to a guest who had specifically requested medium well.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise of the kitchen.

Chef Alden leaned in, his voice dropping to a cold murmur. “Sorry doesn’t fix the fact that Brio’s Kitchen is about to get eviscerated in the press.”

“You’re done here, Kallista. Fucking fired.” He spat.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet.

 Fired. She’d been fired.

 After years of pouring every ounce of energy into this job, sacrificing sleep, and swallowing her pride to work under Alden’s impossible standards, it was all over.

“But—”

“No buts. Clean out your locker and leave. Now.”

Humiliated and brimming with shame, she walked out of the kitchen ignoring the sympathetic glances of the other cooks and sous-chefs. 

She grabbed her knife bag and coat from the backroom, dumping her apron right there on the bench. She grabbed a coffee before pushing through the swinging doors into the somewhat busy street, the piercing and cold winter air hitting her face like a slap. She didn't even care about her missing jacket.

Her vision blurred as tears stung her eyes. This wasn’t just about losing the job. It was about losing her chance to finally prove herself, to claw her way out of mediocrity and make a name in not just the culinary world but to her family who thought being a chef was a joke.

 A family that thought she was a joke.

 She leaned against the brick wall of the restaurant, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Fate, however, wasn’t done with her that day.

Distracted and lost in thought, she didn’t notice the tall figure striding toward the restaurant entrance as she started walking again until it was too late. She collided with him, and the takeaway coffee cup she’d grabbed on her way out exploded between them, drenching his impeccably tailored coat in hot liquid.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” she gasped, fumbling for a napkin in her coat pocket. Without thinking, she started dabbing at the lapel of his coat, trying to clean up the mess.

The man stepped back abruptly, his expression hardening into a deathly glare. “Don’t touch me,” he said, his voice was low and razor-sharp. it sounded even more dangerous than the tone chef Alden had used on her some minutes ago.

The force of his push sent her stumbling backward. She landed hard on the pavement, her knife bag skidding across the wet ground. For a moment, she was too stunned to speak.

“Seriously?” she snapped, scrambling to her feet. “I said I was sorry! You didn’t have to shove me, you asshole!”

The man’s piercing gray eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of surprise. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his cold, detached indifference.

“Next time, watch where you’re going,” he said coolly.

She opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it. What was the point? He was just another self-important suit who thought the world owed him something. Huffing, she picked up her bag and turned away, muttering under her breath, “Fuck you. Jerk face.”

The restaurant doors opened and a hostess hurried out to greet the man, her voice overly sweet. “Mr. Hawthorne, welcome. Chef Alden is expecting you.”

Kallista froze mid-step. She turned back, her gaze following the man as he disappeared through the restaurant’s glass doors.

 Mr. Hawthorne? As in Jaxon Hawthorne? The billionaire CEO of Hawthorne Corp?

She shook her head and laughed bitterly to herself. Of course. Of course, the jerk in the thousand-dollar coat had to be someone important.

It was just her luck.

As she turned to walk away for the last time, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from her neighbor.

Billie:

“Hurry back home Kallie. There's been a fire.”

It was just her luck.

~~~

Across town later that evening, Jaxon Hawthorne entered his grey and sleek penthouse apartment, shrugging off his ruined jacket. The coffee stain onboth his shirt and jacket was still visible, and he scowled as he tossed it into the laundry bin.

The encounter from the restaurant replayed in his mind—the frazzled woman, her fumbling apologies, and the fire in her eyes when he’d pushed her. He might have been a little too harsh but in his opinion he’d thought she was just another woman seeking his attention somehow. 

He thought he'd forget about her by now.

But something about her lingered, like the faint sting of coffee on his skin from earlier. And he hated it.